No Hard Feelings
by OhSoDeadly
Summary: Batarians and humans. Not the closest friends. Sooner to exchange gunfire than a handshake. But with the world ending, it's hard to be picky.


The cannibal's shot nearly took his head off, but Drauch Grashthan had felt more than one ruby-red pulse of energy sear past his head since this war had begun, and dropped behind cover, waiting for the creature to lose patience and move up to his position. Its harsh snarls and gibbering were drowned out by the chaos all around him, but he knew not to look just yet. Their footfalls were ungainly and loud, even in the middle of a firefight. You could hear the bastards long before they arrived, and since this one was out of grenades, he could remain where he was. For now, anyway.

He remembered his overseer-sergeant lashing him with the omni-whip during Initiation, roaring fury over giving away his unit's position during an exercise. _The rest of the galaxy would think that we're brutes and morons who couldn't infiltrate an elcor grocery, _the man had snarled scathingly, _and its grek-piss like you that makes 'em think that. _The next time, he had done so again-and been whipped half to death. The third time, he had left his unit wholesale, left them to slog it out to the objective on their own. When they had all died, but he had snuck past the firefight and claimed the Khar'shan flag for himself, they'd whipped and starved him yet again, but they'd also taken notice. What would have been a long and brutal stint as another dumbass grunt in the Hegemony's infantry program turned into an opportunity, one that had turned out extremely well.

_Not like this battle needs an SIU infiltration specialist as much as it needs a shitload of big guns, _Drauch thought sardonically. Twisting to one side, he keyed in a command on his omni-tool and watched the orange glow flare to life. He forced himself to breathe slowly, battling the adrenaline-fuelled urge to break cover and kill the fucker.

_Your training. Remember it. We're not getting killed by a cannibal, not now. _

It helped to think of them as cannibals. Them. Those things. Motherfuckers. Reapers. Monsters. _Tres'tha, _to use early twenty-second century Khar'shai ghetto slang, but that one was his own special brand. It helped because to think of them as things, instead of the kith and kin they had once been, was useful, no, necessary, if you wanted to make it through a minute of this fuck-forsaken war without losing your mind-

At that moment, a Reaper's horn blared from not far away, and he was momentarily stunned by the all-consuming clarion call. He barely had a second to pull himself together before the cannibal leaped the low wall and flung itself at him, all cybernetics and emaciated, rotting skin-

Shifting tactics, he slammed his omni-tool gauntlet into the creature's gut, stunning it. Before it could recover, he raised his Phaeston and shot it in the head. Carking, it fell to the ground, smoke pouring from the gaping wound between its empty, blue-white eyes.

Rather than linger on its face, Drauch swept the immediate area with his rifle. He had been caught up in the fight for so long he had nearly forgotten his surroundings, but his memory was returning. They were in an abandoned parking garage near the FOB. Reaper forces had been pressing hard, and they'd been stretched thin. Some upstart human bastard by the name of Taylor had sent him and a mixed bag of other soldiers to shore up the defenses. If they lost this front, then the enemy had a straight path to the heart of their operation. Requests for air, armour, reinforcements and re-armament had been strictly denied. When Drauch had gotten testy and gone for his rifle, Taylor had slammed him to the ground with a biotic shove and a firm restating of their objective.

_Asshole._

Things had been fine-well, as fine as they could possibly be in a fight like this-until the Reapers had dropped some ravagers right on top of them, courtesy of a troop transport that had slipped past their Thanix AA. Their line had been completely assfucked, and pretty soon it had been every man for himself, falling back to the relative safety of the FOB.

Most of the relieving force (hilarious, that) had been turians. The old Hierarchy adage of "you only see a turian's back when he's dead" was now blackly humorous, as every last one of them had turned and ran, and every last one of them had died, blown apart by the relentless _boom-boom-boom _of ravager ordnance. Good at dying, that was the job description of every Nhik-damned soldier who fought the Reapers. There were about a dozen of them left now, and they were scattered across the multiple levels of the garage. The reason for this was unknown to him. Maybe they were buying time for someone. Maybe it was just stupidity. In any case, they probably weren't going to live through the next few minutes.

Running past the burnt-out wrecks of civilian cars and the other Reaper abominations he'd downed, Drauch headed for the southern stairwell. The sounds of gunfire could be heard, and the odd explosion. Trouble, but it might mean reinforcements, and it beat staying inside a crumbling ruin until he was swarmed by husks.

He'd heard, and seen, human soldiers swearing and even screaming as they were forced to turn their rifles on their corrupted fellows. At first he wanted to scoff and sneer, even ask them how it felt. Now though...now he was secretly glad. Relieved. The cannibals were disgusting, twisted mockeries of the proud batarian race, but they were so far gone from what he knew that he could lock his feelings away in a box to scream and thrash. The human husks were entirely too familiar. They were different, but still too familiar. Would he have felt the same way. in their place?

He didn't know, and he didn't care to find out. _What I care about is finding more thermal clips. _He'd poured an hour's worth of fire into the enemy, pulled extra clips off the fallen (including the Reapers) but he was down to two clips in his rifle. And still they kept coming. All over this destroyed city, all over the ruined homeworld of the wretched humans, the Reapers moved like an inexorable tide. Even as the fleet in orbit was shot to pieces, Hammer was being killed, by the dozens and by the hundreds.

_Hurry the fuck up, Shepard, we don't have long._

He raced up two more flights of stairs and was about to exit onto the third floor of the garage when a cacophonous explosion roared red through the door and slammed him against the wall opposite. The impact sent painful black stars shooting through his vision and he tasted blood on his tongue. He considered spitting it out, but swallowed it down instead. In a corner of his mind, his overseer-sergeant shouted. _Never let them see you bleed, and don't let me see you bleed, you sons of whores!_Some things never left you, even if those things were sadistic bastards who would kill ten to make one half-decent soldier.

It was something of a shame, he thought blearily, as he picked himself up. If the explosion had killed him, that would be the end of it. As it was, he now had one hell of a headache, few thermal clips and a strange hunger to see everything end in a bloody blaze of fire. _Poet and killer, Drauch Grashthan everybody! _

Did he have a death wish? He'd honestly not thought about it until now, and now that he was, it failed to shake him, whether with fear or righteous anger born of whatever self-preservation in him. By the Four Hells, he was running straight into a gauntlet of Reaper troops-did that scream self-preservation? No, he realised, checking his rifle for any structural damage, he was just ready to have things end. If the Reapers hadn't come to harvest them all, then what difference would it have made? He was SIU. Dealing in death, right up to the moment it came for them.

Somewhat reassured, he keyed his radio, while keeping his rifle trained on the burning wreckage visible through what was left of the door. The COM-bands in this hellhole were fucked to hell and back, but if anyone was still in the building, there was a good chance he'd pick them up. "Anyone still alive in there?' he grunted. The response was almost immediate.

"_-fucking-pinned by-Brute-fourth-need assistance, goddamnit!"_There was the dull _thud_of an explosion a few streets away, and the mangled message came through a little clearer. Maybe some enterprising soldier had taken out a localised jammer. "_Repeat, we're pinned down on the fourth floor by Brutes, we cannot hold this position! How copy?"_

The voice was a human, male by the sounds of him. Drauch's jaw tightened in a scowl, and for a moment he considered shutting his radio off. It would be so easy-

Growls from below. He peered down into the stairwell, and saw nothing, but the sound was familiar to him by now. _More cannibals. At least five. Any more and the noise would be deafening. Familiar, familiar...everything's so goddamned familiar I can't remember a galaxy without Reapers. Home sweet home._

Cannibal squad, or saving some people's asses from Brutes? Well, apocalypse-induced apathy or no, he liked a challenge. He keyed his radio, and with a terse, _"Solid copy, on my way"_, he was headed up the stairs, away from the shit and into some even worse shit.

Even as he ascended, he was mentally reviewing tactics. Brutes were bad news, the immaculate combination of ugly and dangerous, but they could be beaten. Penetrating the thick, metal hide was difficult, but a few grenades would see to that. And of course, getting close to one of them was roughly on par with criticising the Hegemony in the Kite's Nest colonies. Foolhardy and practically guaranteed to get you killed.

He reached the landing, wrenched open the door, checked right, checked left-

Something slammed into his midsection, and for the second time in about a minute, he was sent skidding onto his back, almost carving a gouge into the bitumen beneath. Purple light swam in front of him, and for a moment he was back on Aratoht, watching the northern lights dance and weave above his head, a beautiful contrast to the white fire of the snowcaps below. _One of the few worlds we ever had that wasn't ugly and vicious-and Shepard went and destroyed it..._

Then he became dimly aware of agony in his chest, shouting in his ear, and someone dragging him backwards. From the spindly hands clamped on the front of his shoulders, he guessed salarian. That meant there were at least two survivors up here-unless the human had bought it in the interim. Drauch hoped not. At least, until the Reapers were fucking dead.

The roars and explosions from somewhere else in the garage became muffled somewhat, and he realised that he'd be placed in the back of a human sedan. Looking around, he saw the desiccated corpse of a human civilian slumped over in the front seat, and gagged at the smell. The olfactory regulators in his helmet had long since gone to hell. "The fuck are you?"he managed.

The long, amphibian face in front of him frowned, and slapped something on his chest. A cool feeling swept through his body, and already he felt like he wasn't going to vomit up his stomach lining. "Reldos Moklan. Can you move? Stand? Hell, can you fire a gun at least? No time for lying around, batarian-what's your name?"

"Drauch." He accepted the hand proffered, and swung out of the sedan with a hiss of pain. He patted his belt, only to realise he'd dropped his Phaeston, leaving only a Carnifex on his hip. "Fuck everything. What's the situation?"

"Fucked up, 'bout to die...the usual." The salarian was annoyingly peppy for someone fighting in a warzone. "There were about a dozen Brutes, but we thinned 'em out with some Hydra missiles. Wheel save me, what a mess they made..."

"Ordnance like that shouldn't be wasted on a scrap like this." _Still, that's a dozen Brutes not in the fight anymore..._

Reldos rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, were we supposed to just die, Your Eminence? The point is, we've run dry and there's still one left. Please tell me you've got something besides a pissy attitude."

Drauch scowled, and drew his Carnifex. "A few grenades. What's to stop us from leaving?"

"Heavy Reaper presence on the street, plus these Brutes will follow you anywhere. Nothing short of a fucking dreadnought's kinetic barrier could hold them back." The salarian peered down the scope of a Viper sniper rifle. "We stand and fight."

"Hooray," Drauch muttered, and moved forward. There were far more cars on this level, which meant ample cover. However, it also meant that the Brute could smash through it all with impunity. "What hit me?" he asked.

"Car door. There's a scrap happening down the other end of the level. We should help-"

There was an explosion of metal, pieces of car flung everywhere, and the Brute bounded out of the wreckage with a blood-chilling roar. It caught sight of them immediately, and Drauch could have sworn he saw something in those cybernetic-blue eyes flare upon seeing them. A glimmer of consciousness-

Then it was charging for them, and Drauch was firing, acutely aware of how useless his pistol was. He managed a few shots before he cursed and rolled out of its way. Reldos was not so lucky, and managed to drill a round into the beast's head and crack open the plating before it cleaved him in half with one swing of a claw. Drauch winced at the sight, but got up and kept up the pressure. Maybe the plating was a weakness he could exploit...

The Brute swung round to face him, and started stalking towards him, with the slow and deliberate pace of a natural predator. For his part, Drauch just eyed the pile-up of cars to his left. If he could lure the Brute into that, there'd be enough scrap metal to reduce the damn thing to chunky bits. Of course, that was easier said than done.

The bastard seemed to blur as it went from a languorous pace to one that left scorch marks on the floor. Drauch began to will himself to dive yet again, but he already knew in his heart that he wouldn't make it. Too slow. Too late. Always too late-

A blue-white corona sailed through the air like a bolt of lightning and slammed into the Brute, driving it back a few steps and making it snarl with rage and pain. Drauch took the opportunity to turn and run like hell, in the direction of the biotic blast that had saved his life.

A human male stood atop one of the cars like a conquering hero, one foot planted defiantly on the car's windshield. Beside him, another salarian, this one fumbling to reload a grenade launcher of some kind. "Run faster!" the human yelled, taking potshots with an Avenger. "It's right behind you!"

"No shit!" Drauch risked a backwards glance, and nearly lost control of his bowels. The Brute had shaken off the effects of the biotic blast, and was lumbering in his direction. While not charging at the insane speeds it had been before, it was still eating up the ground at a frightening pace, and would catch him before he could seek cover.

Legs pumping, breath shallow in his chest, his hand juddered against his belt, and more importantly, the grenades contained there. He snatched a look up, and judged he was about thirty metres from the car. Its windows were broken, and it was almost as big as the Brute itself. _What the hell._

"Get off the fucking car!" he bellowed, and, slowing down by a fraction, unclipped his bandolier. A quick command pulse from his omni-tool activated the detonation transceivers, set for a ten-second countdown. Red numbers emblazoned itself on his HUD. **10...9...**

The human and salarian had taken his humble advice and jumped off the bonnet and rear of the car respectively. They crashed into the piles of wreckage and disappeared from view, but Drauch paid no heed to that. A few cuts and bruises were nothing to fuss over, not with two tons of slavering death hot on his heels.**8...7...**

He tossed the bandolier with all his strength, and watched it soar elegantly through the air. For an awful moment they fell too fast, and he thought they were going to skid underneath the car and his plan would be ruined. But they found their mark, and clanked as they fell inside the car's front window. _Thank the Pillars._**6...5...**

He ground to a halt, pivoted and turned to face his attacker. It was barely ten metres away from him now. He tensed, and felt his gums pull back as he snarled at the Brute. Even if this thing managed to kill him, he would be defiant to the last-if for nothing else than a final "fuck you" before he died. **4...**

As the Brute roared in triumph, and raised its claw into the air, Drauch flung himself to one side, arms over his head, and prayed that his ploy would work. If not, he was in for a disembowlment.

The Brute snarled at being cheated its prey, but was unable to stop and turn in time, and plowed headlong into the car, nearly breaking the whole thing in half. Metal groaned, and struts bended, but the car's integrity remained. The beast strained to remove its claw from the bonnet, but could not free it, and it gave up with an angry huff. It took a step towards Drauch, the entire assembly dragging behind it. **3...**

Drauch had sat up by this point, and, treating the Brute to a thin-lipped smile, gave it a sardonic wave. "Goodbye." He dived behind another car and closed his eyes. **2...**

**1...**

The Brute barely had time to blink before it was engulfed in an explosion of hot metal, arcing out in all directions. Whatever fuel had been left in the car only contributed to the blast, enough that Drauch felt his skin singe beneath the folds of his armour. However, beyond that he saw very little-a blinding white light, being flung back against the hull of a small skycab, and flopped to the ground wheezing for breath, his helmet's systems trying to compensate for the sensory overload.

When his vision returned, he got to his feet and, gun up, cautiously approached the blast area. What was left made him want to spit, half in disgust and half with awe. Smouldering chunks of flesh, riddled with the remnants of cybernetics, lay in gross piles around a blackened circle where the grenades had gone off. Spot-fires were everywhere, and a piece of the car-the chassis, by the looks of it-was embedded in a far wall, burning like a torch. The floor crunched underfoot with glass, shrapnel and worse things. And the _smell!_

The silver lining (apart from the fact that the Brute was meat) was that the sounds of Reaper activity below had died down somewhat. For whatever reason, the enemy had pulled back. That didn't exactly fill him with confidence, but a respite was a respite and he damn well needed one.

Drauch heard a groaning of metal and trained his gun on the source, but relaxed when he saw the human male emerge from a carpet of rubble, battered but alive. He fixed Drauch with a glare. "Next time let me know when you're going to do that, four-eyes."

"Fuck yourself," Drauch replied eloquently. "Did the salarian make it?"

The human turned, and surveyed the devastation. "Bundu! You dead?"

There was a click, and a car door opened-and fell to the ground with a clatter. From the inside of a car with its front half blown off, the salarian emerged, still clutching his grenade launcher. _Now where the hell was that a minute ago?_"Yeah."

Drauch grunted a laugh despite himself, and waved them to his position. Casting an eye about, he saw no sign of the Phaeston that he'd dropped earlier. How much longer was he going to be stuck with this fucking pistol? Maybe he could beg a weapon off the salarian. Or (worse, this) the human.

The human male swaggered over with that same arrogant air he found in all human soldiers, his Avenger over one shoulder. "Thanks for the assist, I guess. I'm Lieutenant Roberts, 103rd Marines. That's Bundu, some Eclipse fella. Suppose we're all that's left, unless you got information otherwise?" Drauch felt his scowl widen, and shook his head. "No."

Roberts sighed. "Damn shame. Well, we might as well start working on an escape plan. No way we can head back down to street level, its crawling with those sons of bitches." Bundu shivered and nodded agreement. Drauch already felt the balance of power sliding in Roberts' direction, and he didn't like it. "Rooftops?" he grunted.

"Could work. Could run into ravagers or get picked off by harvesters too. No way of knowing for sure."

"Then stay here," Drauch snapped, his patience at an end. "I'm heading back to the FOB. At least there we might last a while longer before the Reapers blow us to hell. You can do what you like."

He had expected resistance, but instead the human stared at him. "Your radio must be a real piece of shit. Didn't you get the general order?"

When Drauch didn't answer, Roberts grated, "Anderson's given the order to push to the Conduit. Whatever's left of Hammer is mobilising towards it, and that means us."

_What the fuck are they thinking?_"That's suicide!" he blurted out, before he could worry about seeming afraid in front of the human. "The Reapers have artillery, ground troops, ship support...they're all dead no matter what." Something struck him. "What the hell is the Conduit?"

This time Roberts outright snorted in disgust. "Jesus H Christ, didn't they tell you anything at the briefing? What are you, an idiot?"

Drauch seethed at this, for they had not told him a damn thing at the briefing. Indeed, he'd been lucky to attend at all-the resistance were overwhelmingly human, and they had not appreciated his presence in the slightest. Then, to add insult to injury, he'd been assigned to perimeter patrol halfway through and missed vital information. The urge to kill every last smirking human bastard there had been strong, but he'd suppressed it. _And for what? One way or another we're all dead men._He merely replied, "Watch it, human."

Roberts sneered. "Forget it. You're not going anywhere, pal. You're coming with us." He cocked his Avenger and aimed it Drauch. "Your choice."

Behind the lieutenant, Bundu gulped, and started stammering out a whole laundry list of reasons why they should _cut out the shit_and _settle your interspecies pissing contest later,_but Drauch was hardly listening. He smiled thinly behind his helmet. "Like that, is it?" He accessed his suit's systems and made some adjustments.

"Yeah, four-eyes. It's like that."

"Fine." Drauch swung his arm upward, faster than was acceptably safe when wearing a combat suit, but even as he felt his tendons pop and pain shoot up his arm, his armored fist sent the human's Avenger flying through the air. Not that he was done, though-he swung his other fist back, and sank it into the human's jaw. Damn, it felt good.

But the human recovered well, and sent Drauch's head snapping back with a vicious strike of his own. Drauch barely had time to shake it off before a biotically-charged kick sent him flying backwards. Even as the blue wave took him for a ride, he knew that the human was tiring-biotics were so fragile once they had depleted their energy, and breaking this human would be a piece of gnarrsh. He leaped to his feet, and drew

Somewhere, in his head, he knew what they were doing was wrong, and fucking moronic besides. But that part of him was eclipsed by another, bigger part, one that remembered seeing Khar'shan burn, seeing the empty eyes of his fellow operatives who'd succumbed to indoctrination, knowing that no matter what happened today, no matter what heroics Shepard would pull off, the batarians-as a race, as a people, as a culture-were finished.

Killing this human wouldn't solve any of it, but it would make him feel better.

He swung a fist at Roberts' face, but was intercepted by an arm block. His other arm shot out, trying to pull the human in close, but before long he was caught in a hold and both men grappled for purchase. Snarling, Drauch slammed his boot down, and was rewarded with a cry of pain. As Roberts doubled over, Drauch kneed him in the face. Plastic shattered and metal cracked as the human's chin-guard was struck by the serrated greaves. However, Drauch found a burning pain shoot up his leg and flinched. He'd taken some damage, and the tussle with the Brute hadn't helped.

Suddenly he was falling backwards, the ceiling rushing away alarmingly fast. The bastard had tackled his legs. He raised both arms to defend himself, as blow after blow started to rain down on his face. One made its way past his gauntlets and smashed into his visor, sending a spiderweb of cracks and obscuring his upper right eye. He snarled. "Fucking human dog!"

"Shut up, damn you!" Roberts had backed off slightly, but only to draw his pistol and aim it at his head. There was a click, and Drauch did not close his eyes. Rather, in keeping with centuries-old batarian cultural practice, widened them. So his soul would not remain trapped behind closed lids, and would escape this fetid galaxy intact. Freedom-

A blood-curdling shriek ripped through the building, and the satisfied grin on Roberts' face turned to a look of pure fear. He shot up, already aiming his gun at half-a-dozen different places. Behind him, Bundu had tossed aside the grenade launcher and wielded a Tempest SMG, but he looked no less terrified. With a sense of dread, Drauch got up groggily and joined them. _Only one damned thing makes a noise like that._

_Banshee._

"Makes sense," he muttered, more to himself than the others. "They didn't want to waste sending in more Brutes...so they're sending a Banshee. Out of the fucking frying pan. Isn't that what you humans say?" This last one was directed at the lieutenant.

'Shut up, damn you!" The lieutenant was actually trembling. If the current situation wasn't so fucking bad, Drauch might have laughed. "Does anybody see it?"

Drauch's experience with Banshees suggested that you either saw them at a distance, hurling biotic explosions, or right up close, digging their foreclaws into your skin and melting your face. Neither of which were happening. He looked around, saw nothing but burning wreckage and support pillars. "Not a damn thing. Motion trackers?"

"No. Nothing. Goddamnit, where the fuck is it?" A shrill snarl bounced off the walls, and Roberts snarled right back. "Come on, you bitch! Come and get us!" He fired a burst at nothing in particular. "Come on!"

"Shut the fuck up, human!" Drauch hissed, fighting the urge to open fire as shout, yell, run...hell, _anything_ at this point. "You'll draw it right to us!"

"It already knows we're in here, fuckface!" Bundu, of all people, had spoken up, with a reedy, irritating voice that made Drauch think of all the reasons he hated salarians. The Eclipse soldier aimed his gun at the, and started moving away. "You two can stay here, but I'm getting the fuck out of-"

Both Drauch and Roberts saw the black shimmer behind him, raised their weapons, but it was too late.

Bundu screamed as a jet-black claw ripped through his spindly chest, dripping with lurid green gore. Both men watched in horrified fascination as the Reaper abomination deftly twisted its claw to the right, and flung both halves of the hapless salarian's corpse to the side. Letting out a triumphant screech, the banshee trudged, step by tortured step, towards them.

"_Hazzak!_" Drauch swore, and opened fire. Roberts did likewise, after a moment's hesitation, but even with their combined fire it was like trying to cut down a Khar'shan serpent whale with a stick. Its horrid mouth opened in a morbid grin, and it kept on coming. There was nothing to do but-

"Run! Fucking run!" Roberts had already turned tail, and Drauch had no choice but to follow him. Even as his feet pounded the bitumen, he knew they had nowhere to go. Banshees looked slow and spindly but sooner or later they'd hit you with a biotic slam that made Aria T'Loak look tame. And if they didn't do that, then they'd-

He heard the _thrum_of its teleportation, and tried to squeeze more speed out of his already exhausted legs. "It's charging!" he felt himself yelling. "You need to-"

The banshee erupted from the space between them and grabbed them both by the throat, lifting them both into the air. Drauch wheezed as darkness began to creep into his vision, and a horrible crawling sensation flooded his skin. Malignant purple-white energy coursed over his armour, and the banshee made a horrible trilling noise deep in its throat. Its eyes were black, blacker than the depths of space-

A loud gunshot, and the banshee snarled, flinging its gaze to Roberts. The human had somehow kept hold of his Avenger, and was unloading it point-blank into the monster's face. Streaks of metal impacted its head, but one squeeze of its talons and Roberts hit the floor, throat torn open.

That threat dealt with, the Reaper turned its attention back to Drauch. The smile came back on its face, and with its other hand it stroked Drauch's brow almost lovingly, drawing him in closer.

Drauch let it happen. He was done. He had no strength left. No guns, no grenades, no tech attacks. Nothing. He dimly felt his right hand flex-

And the answer came to him. Summoning what was left of his strength, he brought up his HUD and deactivated all the failsafes in his armour, all the stress inhibitors. He would not need them. Not for what was about to happen.

As if sensing his intent, the banshee hissed, and withdrew its hand. With one fluid movement it stabbed deep into his chest, and he felt it erupt from his back. The darkness flowed in, sought to overwhelm him. _But I am not-not yet done._

Drauch raised his head, looked the bitch right in the eye, and roared, _"For Khar'shan!"_And he threw his fist with all his strength.

He felt his arm break, tear itself apart, and nearly bit through his tongue from the pain. But he also saw the banshee's head snap back, making a wet tearing noise, and the creature staggered backwards. It dropped him, and he hit the ground. It didn't hurt. Nothing could hurt him at that point.

The banshee had time for one, last mournful wail before it slumped to the ground, dead. Sensing its death, the cybernetics inside its brain activated, and the creature vanished inside a blue explosion. He had to shut his eyes, it was so bright. But eventually, it faded.

Then there was a silence. Drauch lay there, barely breathing, feeling something, _everything_seep out of him. He willed the darkness to return, to take him, but for some reason it had abated. He tried to curse, but instead his mouth just sagged open and he let out a groan. Why did he have to stay alive now? Now, of all times? He had wanted to die for a long time. He had wanted to die since the Reapers had arrived. Before, even.

A gasp, a choking sound, and he heard something drag its way over to him. Then a voice. "You...ugh...still alive, four-eyes?"

May the Pillars preserve him! He wasn't even allowed to slowly die in peace, no, he had to share it with a bastard human. He grunted, and let that be answer enough.

"Huh. One tough son of a bitch. Surprised we..." Deep, hoarse coughing. "We made it this far."

"I told you." Drauch tried to turn his head, look Roberts in the eye, but found he could not. "I told you it was charging."

"And what the...fuck...was I meant to do about it?"

Drauch thought about that, about how quickly it had all happened, and hissed. "Fuck you, human. Fuck off and die. I hate you so much."

"You're gonna...hurt my feelings...with talk like that, batarian."

There was some more silence, apart from the distant sounds of gunfire and Reaper ships roaming the city. Drauch stared at the ceiling, through the cracked spiderweb of his visor. Amongst the pipes, he could see a wrinkled balloon, likely from before the invasion had begun. The sight made him laugh a little, and he felt something in his chest move. Probably his stomach.

"I...haven't got much left, four...eyes." Roberts chuckled himself, though it was more of a way of clearing the blood from his throat by the sounds of it. "Mind if I talk your ear off for the next...five minutes?"

"Yes."

"Too fucking bad." Roberts sighed. "My daughter's at the FOB. Guess I can't...ask you to tell her why I'm not...making it back tonight."

Drauch sniffed. "Happy to disappoint you."

"You know, you really are the grumpiest fuck I've ever met. Even for...a batarian. You got any...family?"

Drauch remembered a woman from boot camp. Elshra Ga'thon. Tough, take-no-shit. Sexy as hell. They'd been close friends from day one, and privately, he'd hoped they grow into something more. Something was at peace when he looked her way.

Then the overseer-sergeant had killed her as an example to the rest of the, though that purpose her death was meant to serve he couldn't remember. Everything before the SIU days had faded, and that too was beginning to fade, replaced by the first time he'd laid eyes on a Reaper.

As much as this war had taken from him, there hadn't been that much to take to begin with.

"SIU."

"Ah. Right. Stone killers, then." Roberts shuddered, and spoke, fainter this time. "Hope...Shepard...made it in time, eh?"

Drauch wanted to curse Shepard's name, fling mud and piss at it, as a final parting shot to the human who would disturb his dying. But as much as he hated to admit it, as much as it lit a fire in his chest (ha ha), he knew there was only one reason they were here today, and that was Shepard.

Could a mere human deliver them all? Deliver the galaxy? He sure as hell wasn't going to find out. The darkness was coming back now, consuming him piece by piece.

"Yeah." The words tasted like ash, but Drauch knew that they were due. "I hope so."

"Good." Roberts spat out some more blood, and then whispered, "We're not...so different...after..."

A final, rattling gasp told him Roberts had died.

Drauch was not far behind. He was glad of it. This galaxy had been cruel to him for too long. Whatever hell he was bound for, it could be no worse than the life he had lived.

He just hoped that human bastard wouldn't be there when he arrived.

Drauch closed his eyes, and thus missed the blinding wave of red light washing over the city. Truthfully, he would not have cared. Instead, he turned his dying mind to a different thing.

Khar'shan. He wished he could lay eyes on it again. Even with the Reapers destruction, he wished he could do it one last time.

It was so...perfect.


End file.
